CLEVELAND, Ohio -- The fault was not in our stars, but in our teams' treatment of them.

Under former commissioner David Stern, the NBA, which had always been a players' game, became a star player's paradise. First in line for all the perks among this century's best players was LeBron James.

I was an NBA beat writer when the superstar fascination began with the American Basketball Association's merger with the NBA in 1976 and the trade soon afterward of Julius Erving from the cash-strapped New York Nets to the Philadelphia 76ers, the team I covered.

Erving was a player with some team loyalty problems of his own as a youngster, but he otherwise lacked most of the repellent attitudes of today's entitlement elite. In his autobiography, "Dr. J," Erving makes the point that he was part of the last generation in the NBA in which the coach was the most important figure in the franchise, not the superstar player.

It made all the difference.

Erving was not made the instant savior of the team because another former ABA luminary, George McGinnis, had already been there for a year and had led the team to the playoffs. Erving had to adjust, defer even, to the senior man.

Erving's need to adapt to a new team and new coaches, amid ballyhoo surrounding him that was great for its time, should be compared to the immediate anointing of James as the Cavaliers' sun, around whom everyone and everything revolved, almost as soon as the 2003 draft lottery was over.

James was ceaselessly catered to after Mike Brown became his coach. Brown even thanked James publicly "for letting me coach him." The clock was already running on that agreement, though.

You wouldn't give your children every single thing they wanted. You wouldn't even do that with your dog. It would do nothing but spoil them.

It spoiled James rotten, leading him to take it on the lam in 2010 after two years of collusion, ever since the 2008 Olympics. He thus spurned Dan Gilbert, the owner who had given James everything he wanted. Gilbert got nothing, certainly not respect, in return.

Players today need to know where the "boundaries" are. This is a euphemism for discipline, which, when plainly explained and applied -– I give you the Spurs' Gregg Popovich –- can lead players, as Popovich tells them, "to get over yourselves."

This is why Browns coach Mike Pettine is doing the right thing by making Brian Hoyer (a.k.a., "Johnny Ignatius?") the starter. This not only rewards Hoyer's proficiency before being injured last season, it also stokes the furnace of Johnny Manziel's competitiveness.

How did handing the starting quarterback job to Jake Delhomme, Colt McCoy and Brandon Weeden work out, anyway?

Even Bernie Kosar, the last consistently winning quarterback the Browns have had, back in the mid-1980s, sat behind Gary Danielson for a while.

As for Manziel, Johnny Football comes here after putting Texas A&M in the forefront of the national college football consciousness, much as Kosar in the national championship season of 1983 made Miami a program to watch.

Just as Kosar learned from watching Danielson, so might Manziel benefit from Hoyer. At least, up to a point. Then the competitive juices, if precedent means anything, will kick in.

In spring football at Texas A&M in 2012, Manziel's Heisman Trophy year, new coach Kevin Sumlin refused to name a starter in spring practice.

Coming off a redshirt freshman season, Manziel was what he was in last week's Browns OTAs -- a player of startling, contradictory abilities. Manziel is capable of making cross-field, cross-body throws no one else tries and putting them through a "window" all but closed and barred. But back then at A&M he was also loose with his ball-handling and prone to turnovers.

Most Aggie fans would have been happy with redshirt sophomore Jameill Showers, who for two years had backed up Ryan Tannehill, the No. 8 pick in the NFL draft.

That summer, however, Manziel revamped his technique by working with West Coast trainer George Whitfield, the Yoda of quarterback coaches. Whitfield's drills really did not improve Ohio State's Braxton Miller that much after he practiced with the guru before last season. But they transformed Manziel because he is a football firestorm of want, hunger and will.

Every critic harps on Manziel's 5-11 height. But in addition to electrifying running ability, he has intangibles that mean more at quarterback than almost any other position in sports.

According to a devoted Texas A&M keeper of Manzielana, email correspondent Cotton Clark, by the end of fall practice in 2012 offensive coordinator Kliff Kingsbury, now the head coach at Texas Tech, had gotten an eyeful of the new Manziel. "Johnny didn't come to A&M to sit on the bench," he said.

Johnny didn't come here to do that either. Not immediately, but eventually, Browns fans will catch a rising star, one that is all the brighter for its initial dimming.

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